Raising Ladders

Halfway to the bunkroom to wake up the next guy on watch, the tones went off. I shook the sleep out of my head as I spun in place and headed to the desk. I didn’t catch the dispatch, so I grabbed the printout and read it as I grabbed the intercom mic.

“Engine, engine. Medical local, for the…”

I paused as my eyes finished the page a split second before my voice did. Dammit.

“…cardiac arrest.”

—————

A hysterical wail cut through the air to my left, now audible only because we had turned our sirens off. I grabbed the medical bags and started in that direction (it’s usually not a good sign, but it ain’t a bad locator beacon, either).

As I had pretty much expected, there were three things present inside the apartment:

some bored-looking cops;

a hysterical family member;

a motionless body.

As I passed the first, deftly avoided the second, and approached the third, one of my hands found a place near the side of her head and tried to position her airway—the other snaked up beside her neck and felt for a pulse.

I recoiled slightly; she was as cold as the sidewalk outside, and about as flexible. Rigor was setting in, so I turned to my crew (who, wonderfully, had grabbed a BVM, oxygen, and a tube kit out of my stuff) and gave them the curt headshake reserved for TV characters who have to stoically answer the female lead’s tearful rendition of “Did he make it, doctor?”

So, we put EKG stickers on cold limbs, palpate depressurized arteries, and take pink and red pictures of motionless hearts.

I folded the paper up and turned to leave. By this time, the screaming daughter had left, replaced by a much calmer son with a thousand-yard-stare.

“Excuse me.” It was barely a whisper.

“Yes?”

“So, what’s the situation?”

“Well, she’s been down for too long, so… there’s unfortunately nothing we can do for her.”

I kept it simple. I’ve tried the other route, and it doesn’t usually work out so well in these situations. So, I swallowed all the typical, feel-better phrases that I’ve heard used countless times before. They sound like bullshit, and they feel acidic in your throat.

“So, she’s gone?”

I stared for a second.

“Yes, I’m sorry.”

“Oh, okay.” His thousand-yard stare turned from me, scanned the room, and stopped on Mom.

I left without a word, seeing his back still turned on me and his head slowly nodding.

We run our strips, and we go home.

7 Comments

Great post! I think the worst emotionally is when you run on those calls where there is nothing you can do. The family called us because they thought we could help. It is tough when they do not understand there is a very small window of time that we can help. I was on a called where a wife was doing CPR on her husband who blue, cold, and rigor mortis had started to sit in.

I think the same sometimes. In fact just 3 days ago, I was at a sudden death, I walked upstairs found the deceased gentleman lying in his bed. He was as cold as a fridge and as stiff as one too, so I filled in my forms and went to speak to the police who had arrived. As I was filling my forms I wrote the normal ‘Rigor present, along with post mortem lividity’, when I realised I hadnt actually checked for lividity.
It didnt matter that he was solid and as cold as stone, I couldnt leave the scene without first satisfying myself that I had actually seen his post mortem staining…..Oh and whilst I was there, why not run off a quick asystole trace right?

Odly We don’t have to run a strip on DOA’s here. If they’re dead, they’re dead.

We also end up having a little more conversation with the family, since we have to communicate with the coroner to provide time of death and we are responsible for arranging body transport to the funeral home. I’m almost envious of you for being able to scoot out of there. That is the hardest part of our job–being able to do nothing.

Captain Scott HetrickGear Review: Blauer’s new tactical bootsInteresting that BOA is from my home town of Steamboat Springs, and they didn't approach our Fire Department to do a field test or even let us know that they were working on a duty boot. Small towns are funny sometimes. Captain Scott Hetrick Steamboat Springs Fire Rescue
2014-11-29 21:26:03

John StruveSt. Baldrickâ€™ Support a Fellow Brother Fighting Pediatric Cancer!As I read all the above I wondered "How does it work?" Are fire personnel asking for pledges from the public to be paid to this charity when the personnel have their heads shaved? The ad above was not clear to me. I will read it again. The charity is certainly a very worthwhile cause.…
2014-02-22 06:20:28

“Social Media Policy”—how does it affect the bloggers? | Raising LaddersA word of caution for the chronic Facebook addicts.[…] over three years ago, I penned a post regarding how firefighters and EMS providers were landing themselves in hot water by using various […]
2014-01-07 17:55:57

Jonny HopeFarewell, brother.So very well said Brother. Mike was such an awesome guy. Sure am gonna miss him and his stories. Mike touch so many people on and off the job. Mike will continue to live on in so many of us. Thank you for sharing such a wonderful tribute with us about Mike.
2013-12-04 21:49:48